A rerun of the reincarnated BBC series “Doctor Who” is on. While I wasn’t crazy about David Tennant at first, with time his Doctor grew on me. It’s a direct confirmation for me that Tennant’s Doctor was far better than Matt Smith’s Doctor. In fact, the happy scamper he, Amy, and Rory did onto the TARDIS at the end of the last season really turned me off. It’s part of what I believe has been a transition from a dark, brainy “Who” to a less brainy and more teen-friendly “Who.” Better for ratings, but lacking in good storytelling or invoking of the imagination. That’s what hooked me on the old “Who,” with the Third, Fourth, and Fifth Doctors. (Have you seen my scarf? Hello!) And sure, it was fun for adolescent me to watch Peri bounce around with the Sixth Doctor, but then too I saw that the storytelling had taken a backseat to more visceral appeals. While they’re certainly not trying for cleavage appeal this time around, a small part of me laments the sacrifice of the imaginative journey that make “Doctor Who” so wonderful for the network’s desire to capture young eyeballs.
While I’ll still watch it next season, it won’t be with the interest that I had for the eccentric Tennant or the daring Christopher Eccelston.